


Always worth giving a try

by CamilleDuDemon



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Lambert can play the lute, Lambert is a dick, Lambert isn't fond of strangers, Sarcasm, Useless Talking, Winter At Kaer Morhen, no beta we die like witchers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2020-08-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:33:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25862125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleDuDemon/pseuds/CamilleDuDemon
Summary: Jaskier is sure he shouldn't be able to hear the soft, gentle sound of a lute being played by skillful hands in Kaer Morhen, at least not when it isn’t him who’s playing it after dinner, sprawled on Geralt's lap next to the fireplace.It's a quiet early morning and the keep is practically empty save for Vesemir who is, as always, out to fix something -- a leaking roof, a collapsed floor, the stump of a tower; anything, really. Geralt and Eskel have left for a hunt long before dawn -- Lambert has been bitching about the lack of fresh meat for a solid week, now. Lambert too should be at the castle, possibly helping Vesemir with whatever he’s patching up at the moment, which is why he ends up wondering who the actual fuck is playing his lute -- and in such a splendid, skilled way too.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Always worth giving a try

Jaskier is sure he  _ shouldn't _ be able to hear the soft, gentle sound of a lute being played by skillful hands in Kaer Morhen, at least not when it isn’t him who’s playing it after dinner, sprawled on Geralt's lap next to the fireplace.

It's a quiet early morning and the keep is practically empty save for Vesemir who is, as always, out to fix something -- a leaking roof, a collapsed floor, the stump of a tower; anything, really. Geralt and Eskel have left for a hunt long before dawn -- Lambert has been bitching about the lack of fresh meat for a solid week, now. Lambert too should be at the castle, possibly helping Vesemir with whatever he’s patching up at the moment, which is why he ends up wondering  _ who the actual fuck  _ is playing his lute -- and in such a splendid, skilled way too!

For a horrible moment, Jaskier thinks that someone - Eskel? He seems to be the most friendly one, actually, despite the nasty scar on his face - has invited Valdo Marx to the keep and his breath gets caught in his throat as his cheeks puff with the outmost  _ outrage. _

Yet.

It can't be.

Wolves aren't exactly keen on just picking up every stray they find and bring them to Kaer Morhen as if it was no big deal at all. It  _ is _ a big deal. It has taken Geralt a solid decade - maybe more, Jaskier couldn't tell for sure - to merely  _ ask  _ Jaskier to winter with him at the witcher's keep.

The bard's heart skips a beat as a very intrusive thought crosses his mind, still slow and foggy with sleep.

_ Intruders in the castle. Another angry mob. _

Yes, he knows the story about the sack of Kaer Morhen and the massacre that has followed. Geralt has told him something during their time traveling together, some bits here, some bits there. He has told him about mages and pitchforks, slaughtered kids that had yet to face their Trials, makeshift pyres, about Vesemir's grief as he held the mangled corpse of his lifelong friend clutched tight against his chest, dry sobs escaping his bloody lips.

Fear grips at Jaskier's throat, like icy hands mercilessly crushing his windpipe.

No, he's just being paranoid here. What kind of an angry mob would strum a fucking lute while sacking an already empty castle? And -- he can't be considered an expert on the matter, but he has seen his fair share of angry mobs and pogroms while roaming the Continent, but such an attack would definitely be loud, noisy, noticeable to say the least. Kaer Morhen, however, is as silent as it can be when Jaskier's not around and no one is practicing and shouting in the courtyard.

He takes a long, deep breath before deciding to get up and walk downstairs to check if everything is all right. But, first things first, he retrieves an ornate sword - a vicovarian blade, judging by its distinctive longitudinal section and short hilt; he takes a lot of pride in knowing his shit when it comes to swords - from one of Geralt's chests, just in case. 

He tries to sneak downstairs, tiptoeing barefoot to avoid any chance of being sneaked on himself, but things never go as planned and he ends up stumbling on a pair of old boots that someone has left there inadvertently, muttering a series of curses that would make an old sailor blush under his breath.

The soft, quiet strumming doesn't stop.

He frowns but, hey, who's Jaskier to spit in the face of some dumb luck? Clinging to the blade for dear life, he walks down the long hallway to the kitchen, hoping to sneak up on any possible attacker from behind.

Oh boy, how stunned he is when he realizes that no one is trying to murder his witchers, nor sack their keep. So stunned that he actually drops his borrowed blade with an utterly dumb look on his face.

The music and the humming stops and Jaskier finds himself staring at a very confused, very ashamed Lambert with his mouth agape and so wild-eyed he's afraid his eyeballs are going to fall out of their sockets and onto the floor for the shock.

_ Not that he's got any right to be shocked after all.  _ Seeing someone play a lute shouldn't be shocking per se, he's well aware of that.

But. 

It is Lambert who's playing is lute. 

Lambert. Playing his lute.

The same Lambert who, a couple of nights ago, has stated that he would rather listen to a symphony of agonizing screams all night long than tolerating the  _ ear-piercing lament  _ coming from Jaskier. 

Is it possible, then, that Lambert’s complaining was all an act?

This would be the perfect source material for a ballad, if Jaskier didn't know better that Lambert would repay him by shoving his lute so high up into his ass he would be able to play "the fishmonger's daughter" with his tongue and teeth.

So he just stares. Intently. For a very long, very awkward while. And he keeps staring until Lambert clears his throat and, swallowing compulsively, he mutters "What? I -- uh. You left the lute here when you and Geralt excused yourselves to bed, so -- well --" as if he was caught red-handed skinning alive some bear cubs with a hunting knife or something equally terrifying and shameful.

Jaskier really, really doesn't know what to say. So, he just goes for the first thing that pops into his mind.

"I didn't know you could play the lute. You've never mentioned that before. You even said that you don’t like its sound."

Lambert snorts quietly.

"Yeah, well, everyone's got their little secrets, right?"

He sounds -- bitter. Lambert does  _ always  _ sound bitter - that kind of bitter that makes Jaskier's heart clench with pity and sorrow - but now he sounds  _ even more bitter  _ than the usual. The bard's eyes soften visibly and Lambert abruptly breaks the moment by looking away so quickly it even startles Jaskier for how fast and sudden his movement is.

He takes a couple of steps closer nonetheless. 

"You're good at playing", he states, gesturing towards Lambert as if he could, perhaps, convince him to pick up the lute he has tossed aside. Lambert gives him a puzzled look in return.

"What, bard, do you want me to play something for you?", he snorts, bitter sarcasm blatant in the way his mouth is twisted and his voice high-pitched. Jaskier nods and he almost dares to chuckle when Lambert's face turns into one of pure, unbridled surprise as the witcher realizes that the young bard isn't there to mock, but he's damn serious when he replies with a simple "Yes, please."

A soft grunt comes from Lambert's chapped lips.

"You're kidding", he eventually states, furrowing his brows. Jaskier shakes his head vehemently.

"Never been more serious. Please, play something for me. Anything."

He grunts again, softly, with an annoyed frown plastered on his chiseled face.

It would be an astoundingly beautiful face if his mouth wasn’t perpetually curled in an angry pout or twisted into a malevolent sneer.

"All right. But I must warn you, I'm not exactly good at -- whatever."

The vague gesture he makes with his left hand should discourage Jaskier from taking any further action, but sadly enough he's not easily discouraged, not even by Lambert's dirty looks and snarky remarks.

"Bollocks, you are", he states, almost defiantly. He earns another dirty glance for his boldness, before Lambert starts running his agile fingers across the tense strings, playing the first notes of a ballad that Jaskier barely recognises.

It's an old thing about a prince who sets off for a perilous quest and dies at the end, defeated but victorious nonetheless because all right, he may have lost his life trying, but at least his name will be remembered forever. Jaskier wonders if that's something Lambert might desire -- dying in glory, being remembered. He recalls Geralt saying that there's no glory for a witcher, that a witcher must not expect to earn glory nor gratitude, and his eyes water instantly at the thought. Good thing that Lambert is too focused on playing, instead of minding the bard's reactions.

When Jaskier is wiping away some tears with the sleeve of his tattered shirt, Lambert does even start humming some of the lyrics.

His voice is pleasant, though not a natural bass like Geralt's or Eskel's. And, as surprising as it sounds, he can sing really well. If only he wasn't so shy he could earn some extra money with performances, while on the Path. 

_ Now, that's another thing Jaskier shouldn't say out loud. _

The song goes on. The prince defeats a monster after another, then he falls in love; Lambert's voice softens as he approaches the prince's inevitable demise, his fingers stroking the lute gently enough to turn the music into a mere background sound. When the prince finally succumbs, Jaskier feels spent, as if he has run around the keep twice at breakneck speed or carried upstairs a giant rock with the sole force of his bony shoulders. That's what he calls the raw power of art, he thinks as he collapses on a fur rug on the floor, lips parted and his breathing ragged.

"That was just -- I mean -- that was beautiful, Lambert", he pants, still breathless. He hears Lambert snort.

"Yeah, coudn’t come up with anything better. I don't even like it", he says, faking indifference in such a clumsy way anyone could call his bluff easily. Jaskier doesn't dare to. He just nods at his statement, still laying on the rug to catch his breath.

They both fall silent for a long beat, Lambert pacing nervously and Jaskier taking deep, loud breaths through his nose. 

Again, it's Lambert who breaks the silence.

"If you tell someone, little bard, I'll axii you so bad you'll be kicking yourself on the butt down the road to Vizima, did I make myself clear?"

Jaskier chuckles. Lambert would  _ definitely _ do that out of sheer spite. He has listened to his numerous tales about compelling innkeepers to rent him their finest rooms for a ludicrous fee, so it's not hard to believe he would axii him into running to Vizima while kicking his own buttocks with no remorse.

_ Still. _

"I won't tell anyone. I promise."

"You'd better not fuck with me, bard. I'm not Geralt, all right? And I'm definitely not Eskel. So…"

"So, in case axii-ing me into walking to Vizima while kicking my own ass isn't enough, you'd shove my lute so high up my asshole I'm gonna play it with my teeth?"

Lambert casts him a weird look with his brows furrowed.

"Something -- something like that, yeah. But -- but I think axii would do just fine", he finally says, sounding almost astounded by the bard's balls. Jaskier nods.

"Yeah -- uh -- not telling anyone. Promise. Bard's word."

The witcher snorts loudly.

" _ Bard's word",  _ he sarcastically repeats. "As if the word of a bard has ever held any value at all", he mocks. It's Jaskier's turn to snort. Why does Lambert always have to be so bitchy? The young bard likes him, though. Provided that he isn't in a foul mood, which happens most of the time.

Always angry, usually for petty reasons. Always prickly.

Yet, he plays the lute - and he's quite good at it -, which means that Jaskier is now more keen on forgiving him almost anything, basically. Just as Eskel - who's got all the rights to be venerated as a Saint for putting up with Lambert's shitty attitude all the time - does.

"So, are you going to...play again? For me? When -- when no one's here, of course!"

Lambert shakes his head.

"Abso-fuckin-lutely no. Just be glad I've fulfilled your request today -- and no, no, don't give me the hopeful look. As I said, I'm not Geralt. You can't trick me into submission just because of your blue eyes, bard."

Jaskier offers him an apologetic smile. Well, it’s always worth giving a try, right? Lambert sneers, then leaves the room with a court nod.

Since no one wants him anywhere near the scaffoldings and Vesemir has strictly forbidden anyone to ask for his help while fixing the many roofs and floors and whatnot in the keep, Jaskier is left with little to nothing to do, except for writing and playing. 

He grabs his lute, tries to strum some notes, and the lyrics to a new ballad start forming under his half-shut eyelids.

Something something --

Something about a witcher, of course. A witcher who can play the lute and sing like a songbird at dawn. He chuckles as he retrieves his ink and some parchment.

Maybe, he’ll play this one in front of a large crowd, perhaps in Novigrad or Oxenfurt. Maybe, one day, Lambert will eventually hear his ballad and then -- well. Jaskier’s only hope is to be near Vizima when it’ll happen. At least he won’t be kicking his own behind for long before entering the gates of the capital city of Temeria.

He ends up laughing at the thought. 

If Lambert hears him, he doesn’t come back to punch him in the throat. Jaskier is more than grateful for that.

He’s got all the winter to try and befriend him, despite his bad attitude. Maybe he’ll get to make Lambert play something for him before spring comes. 

_ It’s always worth giving a try, right? _

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
